Behind that door (199 words)

By Neel Anil Panicker

As the silver coloured Mercedes screeched to a halt, the young man clad in an expensive grey Armani suit and Gucci shoes stepped out and peered from behind expensive Ray Ban glasses into the desolate street ahead.

He stood there for a second and then strode towards the corner house.

As he neared it, an avalanche of memories assaulted his senses.

‘Bad boy’__His mother had screamed the first time the police caught him stealing money to fund his cocaine addiction.

A few more jail stints later, and he was labelled ‘persona non grata’.
A decade on, the prodigal son was returning__to home, to mother, to love, to respectability.

His trembling hands cupped the door knob.

It was then that he heard; voices from the inside. He pressed his ears closer.

A man’s, heavy and coarse, quite unlike his father’s, which was soft and soothing.

It was followed by sounds of uproarious laughter.

And then another voice, a woman’s, his mother’s, and then younger voices, of little kids, all laughing and chirping.

A regular happy family, sadly no longer his.

His hands loosened on the door handle, and he slowly retraced his steps.

Some doors do turn rusty over time.


Written for


WEEK #06


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